"Are you in," I asked, without trying to be offensive.
I was on my way home from Manhattan after a weekend of Broadway shows, dinners, and hanging out with friends. The crowded bus I was on had a strange smell wafting through the air, so I took my cell phone out (yes, cell phone — this was pre-smartphone days) and started to play a game, anything to keep myself distracted from the rancid odor.
Suddenly, a text message appeared: “Let’s get a motel room tonight.”
His name was Frankie. We had gone to school together and this wasn't the first time he asked me for sex, I had already turned him down several times already.
I texted back and politely declined.
Not only had I not been home all weekend, but I wasn’t properly groomed if you know what I mean.
Also, he was a disgusting, slimy dude who had asked just about every girl I knew if they’d have sex with him.
Throughout the bus ride, my phone kept vibrating with pleas from him: he needed to get laid, he said. I put my phone in my bag, looked out the window, and actually began considering his offer.
I bent down to see how hairy my legs actually were, and fortunately (or unfortunately), they could be shaved relatively quickly without getting the weed wacker out. My nether regions were a totally different story. I hadn’t had sex in months and I was lazy. I wasn’t about to do special gymnastic moves in the shower OR torture myself with a Brazilian wax for this guy.
So, turns out, I caved.
“Meet me at the East Shore Motel at 8 p.m.,” I texted.
He was thrilled while all I could think about was getting off that bus and taking a shower. I had work to do — shaving, trimming, douching ... the works.
I drove my car up to the motel at 7:55 p.m. and waited. I saw his white car pull in. Every ounce of me wanted to cancel but I had worked REALLY hard making myself desirable, I wasn’t going to walk away now.
We took our clothes off and as I examined myself in the wall-to-wall mirror (real classy, I know), I noticed that not only had I missed a few hairy spots on my legs, but half of my bush was still in tact.
WTF? I had been so tired from the weekend, I didn’t even realize I did a half-assed job and there I was, standing naked before this sleaze bag for a one-night stand I wasn’t entirely sure I even wanted.
He hopped on the bed and I jumped right on top, wishing the whole thing to be over quickly. As I sat on top of him, he made noises, but I didn’t feel anything.
“Are you in me?”
“Uh, yes!” He said, slightly angry.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize.” I wasn’t even trying to be disrespectful but I felt NOTHING. Tampons would have given me more of an orgasm than his micropenis.
Obviously fed up with the fact I hadn’t fallen in love with him right then and there, he tried insulting me:
“Can I take the condom off? It’s the only way I’m going to finish now.”
I laughed, which didn’t help. “HELL NO!”
He harshly pumped himself to the point of finally finishing but you can could SEE the irritation in his eyes. We washed up, got dressed, and left without goodbyes.
The following day I received a text from him: “That was bad sex.”
That was about 12 years ago. I see his picture sometimes on Facebook under “People You May Know” but never had the urge to friend request him. I prefer to keep my one night stands private. Well, kind of private, of course my girlfriends knew he had a penis the size of a tampon.
Looking back, I don’t regret going to the motel that night. What I do regret is going into it expecting a big gulp and only getting a short order of unsatisfying copulation.
I was thirsty, too!